


All in due Quaran-time

by captainussopp



Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Fire Emblem Series, Matilda (1996), One Piece, Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Gen, Multi, Rise of the Runelords Adventure Path, Sandpoint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26254807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainussopp/pseuds/captainussopp
Summary: Journaled entries of adventures played over virtual table-top games with my best friends.Fanfiction loosely based on the classic Pathfinder Adventure, Rise of the Runelords.
Kudos: 1





	1. Introduction

_In the bustling shores of Sandpoint, off the coast of the great region of Varisia arrived a ferry boat full of travelers, merchants, and local tradespeople looking for an honest day’s work. Among them, were five unusual adventurers intertwined by the strings of fate itself to embark on a journey of a lifetime!_

Who am I, you might ask? My name is Eando Kline and as a decorated retired Pathfinder, I have a privilege to recount their stories, as they make history through the lands of Golarion. 

Based on my research, they were introduced by a startling encounter of a dwarf on an acid trip with the dockmaster, who was taking inventory of the passenger manifest. Poor lad did not expect to get a whole life story plus admittance to illegal psychedelic mushroom use upon roll call, but he knew very well that he would encounter something far more uncomfortable in the ports ahead. This dwarf’s name was Rochario - and he was accompanied by half-orc Quaveous, a gnome by the name of Tiny Tim, human Matilda, and elf half breed Gweeva.

Upon their arrival, it seemed that the first locals they truly encountered were the bartenders at Two Knights Brewery, Linus, and Deipshyt Vasilica. While I struggled to pick a side to sit and order my drinks, it was clear that the band of strangers had favored Deipshyt’s more elevated sense of service over Linus' classic tavern approach. Bartender Deipshyt recalled that the one Quaveous ordered a glass of water instead of mead - and that he paid 5gp for it! We had a good laugh - nobody orders a glass of water at Sandpoint, local knowledge is that clean water comes from the apothecary, where it can be filtered from any toxic goblin waste. He also recalled being asked for information on mercenary-type jobs but felt that the elf half breed and dwarf lacked the professional aura of those seeking guild tasks. Linus only had one customer, the gnome by Tiny Tim - remembered that he fed his familiar raven beer! 

That night they stayed at the White Deer Inn, where according to the innkeeper’s records they slept and joined the entire town for the day-long celebration of the Swallowtail Festival. There had always been rumors about the events that lead up to this day, but my interviews did not yield me the clarity I was hoping for. Some accounts recall fire grenades being tossed at the food vendor’s carts, others reported goblin commandos riding dog-like creatures, most likely goblin dogs bred for battle. What was clear is that our rag-tag band of strangers found themselves in the middle of the crowd when Father Zantus struck the thunderstone to announce the start of the consecration ceremony. 

Sheriff Hemlock’s incident report informed me that most of the goblin bodies were found far into town, where townsfolk resorted to extreme means to repel the sudden invasion of menacing monsters. The clearest scene I could find documented was by a hay cart registered to a local town merchant, with a dog corpse mutilated most likely by the goblin invaders. A group of three goblin bodies, pierced with mortal lacerations by an armory crafted sword indicates that someone from the group had sprung to protect Father Zantus and his female acolytes. Visiting the site rendered me no better results, as the air was too dense with magical and environmental pollutants. 

By this point, my burning questions for this group largely revolved around their allegiance to themselves - nothing in my initial surveys showed any synergies or alignments. Was it the united desire for adventure? The lack of knowing anyone else? But such was my job to retrace the steps of these fine young adventurers. 


	2. Swallowtail Festival

_The goblin raid at the Swallowtail Festival struck a fearful blow to the hearts of the Sandpoint citizens. The group of heroes found themselves in the most precarious situations, unearthing deep dark secrets of Sandpoint’s elite._

After days of hounding down witnesses to the goblin raid, I was able to piece together a rough timeline of the battle. After the thunderstone call for attention that was supposed to allow Father Zantus to start the ceremony - a feral mob of goblins stormed the city on all fronts. In the wake of chaos, the band of heroes tackled a small band of goblins that had taken over a hay merchant cart. Goblins had slaughtered the hay merchant’s guard dogs and left the owner fleeing for his life when the group arrived at the scene.   
Some reports find that the heroes had a really hard time getting used to dealing with goblins - they are quite hard to strike if you haven’t encountered them before. Soon after the first skirmish, eyewitnesses note that another heisted merchant cart came rolling down the middle of the event grounds in flames. Most of the group was able to avoid the incoming barrage except for the one by the name of Rochario. Sheriff Hemlock shared with me in confidence that an autopsy revealed that our dwarf was highly intoxicated with some kind of fungal acid, and it was a miracle that he even made it that far in life. He never stood a chance against a fiery ball of burning merchandise. 

Seeing that their bandmate was trampled and mortally injured, the remaining heroes must have felt it necessary to continue to push forward. With every skirmish, accounts describe the heroes getting better at striking the vicious monsters. They swiftly dealt with mobs of goblins led by warchanters, who seemed to be leading the charge by whipping the front lines into setting the town plaza on fire. When it seemed that the battle had all but moved on past from the church’s plaza, the heroes found themselves facing a goblin commando that stayed behind to hunt down a hunting dog. Its owner, Magminar oligarch’s son Aldern Foxglove had climbed up to the nearest roof, trying to put some distance between the goblins and himself, as well as screaming for help. The party heeded his call, but Aldern’s attitude towards saving himself over his dog didn’t roll well with the group. Half-orc Quaveous summoned a three-headed canine he called Cheviore to mount an attack to save the hunting dog. While their assault rendered a critical headshot to the commando by ranger Matilda, the team failed at saving the dog against the damned goblins. 

I was lucky enough to interview Foxglove’s maidservant who attended his stay at the Rusty Dragon, and she mentioned how Aldern could not stop mulling over the bloody and visceral details of the scenery after the goblin raid. She mentioned that he was overly obsessed with the mysterious ranger, how he would only talk of the feats of battle as hers and no one else’s. In Sheriff’s Hemlock’s event report, it mentions that Father Zantus took the opportunity to address the band of heroes as an opportunity to heal the wounded and pray for the deceased. 

According to the innkeeper at the White Deer, the band returned later that night to clean up and rest - but she notices they were restless about something regarding an acolyte girl named Roeza. Her staffer overheard the group talking about meeting with Roeza the next day, to try and save her from whatever situation she found herself in. The next day, she confirmed her doubts as she saw the group heading down to the south side of town to meet Roeza at Sandpoint General Store. 

The Vinders had always run the general store since the town’s inception before it had a port, inns, or churches. Shayliss Vinder had been working the front desk since becoming of age - her beauty and charm helped transition the public image of the store as run by male Vinders towards a female leadership position. The heroes visited the establishment and introduced themselves, establishing themselves as a friendly crowd to Shayliss. Miss Vinder realized that they had more in common than she expected - as Matilda had also been given uncalled attention. Shayliss told me that she had wanted to talk to Matilda because she found Aldern somewhat attractive, his silver hairs and airs of free-spirited oligarchy tugged on her against her brain’s logical warnings against meeting him for dinner. Matilda cemented Shayliss’ resolve to put as much distance between her and Foxglove, to ensure everyone’s safety. 

Shayliss mentioned that right after this she went to the back of the store to let her dad know of this perverse person in town, hoping that his influence over the mayor could help make sure he didn’t return to Sandpoint any time soon. When she returned to the front of the store with her Vincent Vinder, Matilda had already left. Vincent Vinder, as a man who operated under a life of equal contributions, offered the team members at the store a token of his appreciation - any two items in the store, for free. 

Gweeva opted for a mechanical battle axe upgraded with a ranged spike extension. Shayliss mentioned that the axe came with an option to charge the range projectile inside and outside the battle. With luck, she said, Gweeva would be able to strike an enemy up to 10 ft with the axe head attached on a chain. But Shayliss did confess she was having trouble marketing this “Night Sun” product for the general market, as it required skill and a lot of luck to avoid mechanical malfunctions in the middle of battle. She was truly happy to give Gweeva the upgraded battle axe with some spare parts to make space for newer inventory.

Quaveous found that the store was stocked with the latest model of “Buuztyn HS” rotating spell caster. A popular piece of hardware back home, it was marketed as an all-purpose caster for wizards in the construction industry. Shayliss recalled that the sales representative boasted that this model had a range of 80 ft and was equipped with 5 modes that highly depended on the increased skill of the caster: a basic single-shot mode, 7-shot, 16-shot, twin loader mode, (where a conjured twin of the physical caster can be held as a secondary instrument) and lastly a twin loader pro mode (which connects the wizard to the physical and conjured caster to provide targeted/heat seeking casting). Sheyliss confessed that she did her best at explaining the basic understanding of the instrument mechanics and she greatly appreciated Quaveous to listen through the entire marketing pitch. The gift included a manual, maintenance kit, and cleaning instruments to allow for interchanging spells. 

As a retired Pathfinder, I felt that there had to be more to the story than what happened inside the Vinder’s store. After collecting recounts of that afternoon near Main street, I found that Matilda was able to meet Roeza, but not before the assumed acolyte already was seen arguing with a salacious and crass tavern lady. After such personality stormed off, Roeza slumped down crying before Matilda met up with her. 

The transition between this encounter and where the heroes were next reported to be seen still confounds me. How do you go from doing a routine visit to the general store to end up to the rowdiest, almost criminal establishment in town? Fatman’s Feedbag, run by popularly corrupt Gressel Tenniwar is well known to be the most crowded open-air tavern in the region. Famous for its regularly organized “accidental bar fights' ', Gressel is known to be the bookkeeper of the illegal fight ring. Why would our group of heroes visit such a lowly establishment? Even I had a hard time fitting into the nightly crowd, had to rough my way out of being pickpocketed a couple of times. To my luck, there was a fight that night, a series of gladiator-style unarmed matchups that determined a winner to have a private celebration in Gressel’s tent assumingly named “Winner’s Circle”. While watching the matches, I found out that the seasonal regulars were still reminiscing about the time a pair of fighters challenged fighters to take a spot at the “winners circle”. The Halfing Brothers, as they remembered, fought against increasingly difficult contenders - they even took down a full-sized orc on the last round. I couldn't help but think - what would lead the heroes to taint their reputation in Sandpoint by involving themselves in this encounter?

I reached back out to Sheriff Hemlock for more information, and his perspective of this encounter was half-orc’s Quaveous’s desire to set records straight with the local orcs at the time, who were very jealous of his newfound fame. Additionally, they resented Quaveous for being magically gifted, and for being a halfling, which typically led to "gentleman matches". He said he locked up the orc for good measure for a couple of nights and “the lad came to his senses” and cleaned up parts of Main Street as community service. 

Budgeted to only stay in Sandpoint for a few days, I was nearing the end of my sponsored stay with no clear resolution as to what our Sandpoint heroes were doing. My instincts were telling me that I needed to stay and figure this narrative out, even if it meant working at the inn in exchange for a stay at a lower tier room. Our heroes saved Sandpoint that day against the goblins, but in the chaos of battle, they saw the strings of corruption that enveloped the town. Equipped with formidable smarts to work the streets of Sandpoint for information, along with the company of a paladin - it is not beyond my imagination that they would make every effort to unravel and defeat the evil that lingered over the port and its people.


	3. Winner's Circle

_ Starting an off-the-books investigation of what happened to the group when visiting the Winner’s Circle was the right thing to do. The Pathfinder Historical Council can wait a few months to get their first draft - there was yet too much left to uncover! _

The morning after, I checked out of the White Deer and decided to stay at the Rusty Dragon under a different name to avoid suspicion from the Pathfinder council or the local government. I sent black ravens to my usual underground informants in the region. The first piece of information I gathered is that the group had somehow managed to become Sandpoint’s Town Guard for a few weeks under the elven leadership of Gweeva. As a half-elf, any reports and bounties were written under the namesake: _ { The last unicorn } _ . No wonder I wasn’t able to find any events under Sheriff Hemlock during that period! 

With a new game plan in place, I decided to change outfits and work the grounds, this time as returning local. It was not hard to charm my way through the populace, but I did hear a name that led me to take a detour to the outskirts of town, southwest towards Magnimar. Roeza, the former acolyte who escaped Sandpoint with the help of the TLU during an event not many were even willing to admit happened. She was staying at a friend’s cottage, in-between places before gathering enough coins to get sail away from Varisia. It was not easy to earn her trust, I had to rely on proof of my investigation and support of the TLU to even get a few words out of her.

**{EK} I’ve been in Sandpoint for a few weeks as a Pathfinder Historian, but I was not able to learn your name until I started asking as a local. Why are the people of Sandpoint so protective of your identity?**

_ {Roeza} I truly have to believe the town is embarrassed and gutted that their nobility-based social and economic system had promoted the livelihood of underground pleasure centers and corruption. Otherwise, all I’m left is knowing that the people running the town have a hard time dealing with the injustices being run by one of their own. And knowing the power of Mayor Deverin’s influence, there is no way my existence is allowed to come to the surface. _

**{EK} Some strong words for an acolyte - can you enlighten me with how you ended up in Sandpoint? You don’t seem like a local, and my better senses tell me you were not in this part of Varisia by choice. Might have even gotten entangled in more than you could handle - am I right?**

_ {Roeza} I would have lost my trust had it not been for my encounter with TLU. They showed me that not everyone who sees through the political charade is wanting to abuse the oppressed, but rather release them. Like them, especially the human Matilda, saw through my acolyte hood and without hesitation attempted to help me out with my situation. I was still way over my head though. Matilda’s gift of 30 gold pieces just bought me enough time to buy me another day without being tortured and sent into the dungeon.  _

**{EK} The dungeon sounds like a hidden-in-plain-sight type of place. Is it in Sandpoint?**

_ {Roeza} Right off one of the main boulevards, disguised as a private manor. Land papers would probably lead you to some powerful yet dead aristocrat in Magnimar - and asking questions over there might get a target on your back. That’s what she always told us, our handler Katherine Vinder, to instill the fear and hopelessness in all of us. At any point in time, she had two dozen “operatives” across town. Barmaids, cleaning clerks, acolytes, even vagrant children off the streets - all under slave work “contracts” that we had to pay off with interest. My price was to get off this coast believe it or not - I was naive enough to believe that taking money from these loan sharks would get me anywhere. The money I took was not nearly enough to even pay the dock worker’s bribe to put me on a vessel - let alone the price of a lower deck bunker. It was all a scheme to entrap unprepared visitors. I tried to leave of course, but that just earned me some scars that I will never want to forget. _

**{EK} I can sense that you were tortured with runes and darker tomes of magic I’m afraid I haven’t seen remnants of in quite some time - who in Sandpoint had the knowledge of carrying out such a complex operation…. And come out scratch-free? Mayor Deverin won re-election that year, and it seems that the whole incident was swept under the town’s history rug.**

_ {Roeza} I wasn’t planning on staying around to find that out. Just when I was starting to lose hope, TLU interceded and they put in their blood, sweat, and tears to extract all two dozen of us in one fell sting operation. When I tried to “pay-off” what was left of my “contract”, Katherine became suspicious and sent me to be the prize of that night’s Winner’s Circle. Turns out that the half-elf and half-orc were pretty good at fighting because one of them joined the gnome and me to the dungeon. I had no idea that Sheriff Hemlock came with them - but he became a necessary distraction against Katherine to take her attention off TLU and their attempt to save us. Katherine confessed to extortion and illegal business running on the spot, prompting Sheriff Hemlock to take her into the local holding cell for booking. From what I hear, Hemlock got beat up pretty badly leaving Katherine free of custody, more than likely thanks to her helping overlord’s hands.  _

**{EK} Did Hemlock pick anybody else up from the dungeon, maybe some rotten souls with their hands caught in the act?**

_ {Roeza} Cross-referencing the ledger that Matilda showed me with what I overheard, there were a few names with a lot of money for “services”. Father Zantus, for one, I knew used church money to fund his acolyte masseuse services - he liked when “young and silky hands” massaged his old skin. Those were the worst assignments, especially when I was also tasked to be one of his acolytes as my day time job. Ven Vinder, presumably Katherine’s father (from an out of wedlock relationship) had some billed time - rumor was that he just wanted to get to know Katherine as her daughter. Belvin Valdemar, a local merchant aristocrat probably on the tab for soliciting party-goers to events he threw himself and none of his friends would show up - quite sad that one. From my own experience, I knew that Alana Avertin - the sweet bakery lady - racked up some serious debt for soliciting men that looked like her late husband. Cosmetic magic procedures were not cheap in Sandpoint - still aren’t. And Barny Harker, the sawmill manager - that one was a puzzle to unravel. He was Katherine’s boyfriend behind her father’s back - and yet she charged them both as clients. My dungeon-mate Clarissa said he requested young men and women to suck his toes after a long day at the mill.  _

**{EK} Repulsing - I’ll have to dig further into Barker’s story, sounds like an easy front-page article. Did Hemlock or Mayor Deverin ever connect the dots with the Vinder girls? Shayliss is everything of a model Sandpoint citizen, the love of every young bachelor, and the darling of every senior in town!**

_ {Roeza} I think both of them are clueless to the relationship between Katherine and the Sandpoint Vinders as an outsider - I'm sure mayor Deverin was briefed by the TLU but any investigation would have turned up as empty as yours did. I did find out that Hemlock put out a bounty in Magnimar for 10,000 gp to apprehend Katherine, but the sketch he provided is so vague, and knowing Katherine, she probably changed her looks by now. But be careful, the last word I got is that the Hands are on the lookout for whoever asks for information on the bounty - it might be a trap. On the flipside, Shayliss is a dear, and I think if anything all of this will just cement her position of leadership in the town. I wish her all the best.  _

_ And one last thing - I never got to send Matilda her letter ~ I had promised to send correspondence as soon as I landed back on my two feet. When they freed me so much was happening, it has been hard to cope with the knowledge until this conversation with you. If you ever catch up to TLU, tell Matilda that I am almost free from my past, and looking towards building a new future outside of Varisia. And tell the monk Tarek that joined the fray just as they were raiding the Dungeon Manor thank you for letting us take payment and belongings from the clients as insurance. That money, albeit dirty, allowed me to survive and stay off the streets of Magnimar for months. From acolyte to almost vagrant, it's been a tough time for me but I know I'm going to pull through. Honestly, it's taking a lot for me to open up but it's all thanks to them, doing their best to help those in need.  _

**{EK} I have great confidence you'll find your stride soon - you've made it this far! Feel free to use my name as a reference wherever you go - it'll protect you even in the most obscure of places… a lot of people owe me a lot of favors!**

By the time we wrapped up our interview, it was getting dark outside and Roeza motioned that she needed to go back inside to prepare supper for her friend - I didn't pry or impose myself so I rode back to town. On my way back there was a lot to mentally process: local organized crime, powerful regional overlord influences, a samaritan monk joining the TLU, and more importantly - the TLU as the township guard! It is so rare for Pathfinders to get involved so quickly in the security of a city-state. Trust, history, ranks and just standing protocol would have impeded this move anywhere else - which means Hemlock must have been desperate to get muscle and show the people that it is safe to walk outside at night. I'll have to go back to Sheriff Hemlock tomorrow and have a chat off-record, hopefully knowing what I know now can help me ask the right questions. 


	4. The Rusty Dragon Inn

_ The intrepid search for truth places me at a disadvantage in my mission to document events for the Pathfinder Chronicles - the city is hellbent to forget what happened… or worse yet, selectively remember only the victories and none of the tragedies or defeats. On the other hand, I needed to make some kind of contact back to Pathfinder Central. It wouldn't be long until the council notices my absence. _

It was particularly cold that night on my way back from Roeza’s rendezvous. It had rained halfway through the ride, and it had caught me unprepared. Most of my gear was laying under my inn safebox, where I left any marker of being a Pathfinder to assume the identity of Ambert Vyre, a local Iori cleric returning from a long pilgrimage to the Axis holy lands. A tall tale indeed, for if any scholar of true reputation would know that Iori does live in Axis, but as a god in an extraplanar dimension to which a mere mortal is not able to travel without a taxing arcane ritual or darker blood magic involved. But it was always my go-to identity when traveling through towns as developed as Sandpoint, it opens the right amount of doors without asking or answering too many questions. And I must confess I truly enjoy fashioning a strong showing of facial hair, the perfectly groomed mustache has proven to command the room in times of need. Shivering from the cold drench on my garments, I wondered if people would truly let me into their recent history as Ambert instead of the great Eando Kline. 

I could not have been but a few hundred paces from the Rusty Dragon when I noticed a crowd gathered with torches around the entrance. After unsaddling my ride, I attempted to push myself through the crowd, to find Sheriff Hemlock at the entrance keeping the crowd back from entering the Inn. 

“Sheriff, may I pass? I currently stay at this inn - you can confirm with the owner that Ambert Vyre has paid his fee for a week’s worth of stay” I slightly genuflected to keep my face away from being immediately recognized by the sheriff or anybody else I’ve interviewed in the last week.

“I’m afraid you’ll need to negotiate with the owner for a refund, I can’t allow anyone to stay overnight until matters are sorted out” Hemlock’s uniform head looked moist and damp, meaning he must have been standing outside since early afternoon - not long after departing from Roeza’s location. 

“By the graces of Iori! Am I at least able to confer with her to retrieve my belongings?” 

“First you’ll have to give my assistant here Garzuk your statement of the value of your belongings” the half-orc assistant peered behind Sheriff Hemlock with a pen and a parchment ledger. “We’re keeping track of everything lost this time, it is about time that Magnimar funds the expansion of Sandpoint’s defense. Goblins raids, arseny, now organized crime - we need to feel safe!” Hemlock turned away from me to address the crowd “We need to take Sandpoint back!” 

Torch-bearing citizens roared in support. This might not have been a good time to pursue my research on the TLU, but I guess that it's never a good time for objective journalism. When offering the statement, it was important not to include any of my Pathfinder gear - for it would immediately give my cover away. Poor lad had the ledger so full he needed to insert pages to add my measly account of belongings. 

“Garzuk, is it?” 

“Yes cleric, that is my given name. Is there anything else I can do for you?” 

“Mind me asking, as I’ve been away from Sandpoint for quite some time… when did these incidents begin?” 

“Cleric, I’m not at liberty to discuss ongoing investigations with you, but I can say that ever since the TLU saved the town from the goblins at the Swallowtail Festival, it unleashed a wave of different evils upon this land. We’re doing our best to figure out why” He gently bowed before hurrying back to Hemlock to continue his report.

There I stood, at the entry of the Rusty Dragon Inn - a fine establishment for eccentric music and spicy foods. Where notoriously talented owner and operator Ameiko Kaijitsu holds nightly storytelling may earn you a warm bed in the Bronze room - where coincidentally I had earned my stay. But in the darkest of the night, the Rusty Dragon inn interiors were shining more brightly than it ever had. Not of candlelight, but of small fires across the main dining hall, where tables are turned over and chairs obliterated against the brick walls. I slowly stride inside to find Bethana Corwin, the elderly halfling maid limping across the room with a bucket of water. Taking a peek beyond into the common hall to find the owner kneeling, crying over the ripped out floorboards. 

“Ameiko, I am truly saddened by the state of your fine establishment, but my instinct tells me that this is not the first time that you’ve been brought to this level” I slowly lower myself to the ground, placing my hands in a prayer-like form, as a cleric would. 

“You have you no idea how difficult these cunts have made my life - I haven’t even been able to rebuild from the last sets of attacks on this town”, pointing at the far corner opposite to the piano station, where you can see indentations and brick defacing of a much older instance of destruction. She must have regulated the lighting so well that I didn’t notice it beyond what yesterday’s brawl would look like. “Of all my adventures and travels, I dare say that cleric, you picked the worst week to win the weekly Bronze room sweepstake” 

“It is my duty to protect the knowledge, and while some elitists turn a frown upon your establishment, I find it a place of pure release in the spice and eccentricity of your music. By Iori, let me help”

“I find that neither of us would sit well at a dinner with these sard elitists of Varisia, thank the god’s spirits for that” Ameiko sighed “Here, help me gather the loose splinters. I’ll need to stop by the Glasswork factory in the morning and pick up some building supplies and get this project started all over again” She handed me loose floorboards. It looked like a beast of some sort had come by and started ripping things off - in a wasted effort to find something under the floorboards.

“May I propose something, Ameiko?” She nodded. “How about I help you out rebuilding, and in exchange give me a recount of what has happened since the last Swallowtail Festival. I’ve been gone for a while and it seems I’ve missed quite the development. Might throw in a few exciting stories about Axis for free!” 

She stopped collecting debris. Hesitatingly, Ameiko turned around and delved deep into my eyes.”I don’t particularly remember you from before the festival, but you seem to be someone who has ventured the world and seen things worse than this” She wasn’t wrong - I’ve seen my life slip away from my hands more times than I can count. “Cleric, I don’t want to cheat you out of your stories of Axis - help me out with rebuilding and I’ll recount as much as I can remember. Use the Axis stories for someone who doesn’t know about its extraplanar existence” Ameiko had such a straight face I did my best to keep calm, but I’m sure I broke a sweat somewhere. “I’m totally tugging on your ropes! I once encountered the mercane Tradecross Peddler in Molthune” By the gods, Ameiko had something that an extraplanar outsider would interact with a mortal for. She cackled “Cleric, look, even if your name isn’t Ambert Vyre I’ll help you. I would not be alive if people judged me for my cover, so I have no right to deny you the benefit of the doubt!” She came in for a pat on my shoulders, I laughed with her as well. 

“Then it’s a deal!” I said rejoicing “Allow me to mend the two of you as well - it’s also no secret that you put up a fight this time and your mana is completely depleted. Bethana, please come over here as well - you’ll need to take care of that leg before it gets infected” Casting healing over Ameiko I learned she had carried a few broken ribs, a minor concussion, a broken ankle, and lashing bruising across her back. Bethana on the other hand suffered from a severe three-point break on her leg, almost puncturing a major artery, along with facial bruising from some heavy smacking-like attacks. They definitely got ambushed, overpowered, and left pretty beat up for Hemlock to find them - whatever message the perpetrators wanted to leave, it was loud and clear. 

We spent the next several fortnights rebuilding the place - attempting to restore the classic ambiance of the Rusty Dragon Inn. Towards the end of the reconstruction, Ameiko started to get a little more comfortable with me and was more than happy to share some drinks by the fireplace after a hard day’s work. Work hard, play hard she said - probably reminiscing of her adventuring days across the lands of Varisia. About a week after I returned from Roeza’s meet, Ameiko and I sat by the fire while the cold winter rain came pouring down. In a room where music once filled every corner, it was now quiet and still - the air thickened in the way one would expect before an emotionally intense conversation. 

_ Look, Cleric. I’ve seen you keep the end of your bargain - I do believe it’s time for me to offer my side of this story you’re looking for. Only a handful in this town are in my position of free will and political power, but last time I checked - I’m the only one independent from being loyal to any external power. And it was thanks to The Last Unicorn for that. You probably know of how they saved the town from goblins at the Swallowtail festival and you might have uncovered the well-known secret of how the Winner’s Circle got busted shortly after the goblin raid. What you don’t know is how they saved my life and restored my honor in Sandpoint. _

_ It must not have been a mystery to you that my half-brother Tsuto always harbored an unhealthy amount of animosity towards our father, Lonjitku. The night my father died happened quite differently than how Bethana and I reported it to the authorities, who at the time was being handled by TLU.  _

I had not thought of looking deeper into entries by TLU. The Pathfinder in me would have naturally guided me into looking at TLU’s policing public records. It would have also exposed my interest - or rather Ambert Vyre’s eccentric interest in them. In the end, Ameiko giving me a full briefing might be more effective, as it leaves no paper trials. I adjusted my seat to have a more comfortable listening position. This had to be good.

_ The night before Bethana sought the help of TLU on their first day on the job, I had received a scathing letter from Tstuto claiming that he had proof that our father had orchestrated and allowed the goblin invasion to happen. And that I had to meet Tsuto in the Glassworks Building to confront our father later at midnight. To be completely honest Cleric, I almost didn’t go. I hadn’t heard from my brother in years, after a violent physical altercation with father and the burning of the town cathedral, I doubted that he would ever show his face in Sandpoint again. Maybe my mother’s love drove me to meet my brother at the cathedral that night.  _

_ To my horrific surprise, Tsuto was waiting for me inside the shops, with my father tied up to a chair like a prisoner. He went on rambling about his succubus, his darling Nualia, and how we should help destroy Sandpoint as a family as a sacrifice to Lamashtu. His heart was so full of rage and hatred it was hard to believe that my brother Tsuto was pacing in front of me. I told him I couldn’t believe it, first of his treachery against the family and second willingness to sacrifice thousands of souls for such an evil, selfish obsession with Nualia. Must remind you Nualia was the high priest’s adopted acolyte at the Cathedral and the one suspected of burning the building and murdering her adoptive father. If she was involved, Tsuto was too far to be saved and things did not look good for Sandpoint. I took to talking an empty bottle and throwing it next to Tsuto in my outburst. He then took two pieces of beef jerky and sounded a guttural, goblin call. Two goblins appeared from the shadows and taking the pieces of jerky, they underwent an incredibly accelerated mutation to become twice my size and muscular beyond belief. Fluorescent red blood could be seen flowing rapidly through extremely visible veins. Where the goblin’s face once existed, the piece of jerky dangled from a bloodied goblin jawbone, suspended over the collarbone via purple demonic tentacles. If I didn’t know any better, it seemed like these goblins had been altered to become monsters upon the release of their devastating hunger. If Nualia had created these supersoldiers, whatever defense Hemlock could have provided would have not stood a chance. _

_ As I watched, I froze, as I was not able to comprehend my position due to fear and confusion. Tsuto muttered and before I could react, the two monstrosities ganged up on me, beating me unconscious. I wake up a few days later, at the hands of TLU rescuing me out of the storage cellar under the Glassworks building. After making sure I was conscious, TLU ran off down the old smuggling tunnel, mentioning that there was an ancient evil taking harbour under the city. One of TLU’s members stayed behind, the half-orc Quaveous, and healed me back to the point where I could walk. He said he had to run back to the station to start an immediate report of the incident and would be back later. Before I made my way out from the basement, I bumped into Bethana who told me that she had blocked the entrances so that nobody from town would come in snooping around. I feared the worst, and the reality was so much worse. I limped out from the basement to find a complete disaster had struck the main shop floors. Blood had been flowing from the mangled body parts of my father’s in-house workers and dried overnight across the grout crevices. Under the main skylight, the corpse of my father had been the victim of not only torture and mortal wounds, but posthumous goblin bite marks - as if the goblins had been left to feast on the bodies after the killings. The smell of burnt bodies filled the air, Bethana and I immediately knew that we could not afford to open the windows. That was the least of our worries. I found Tsuto’s body in my father’s old office, along with a mutated goblin entangled with vines. TLU must have put up a hell of a fight. Tsuto’s skin was unnaturally purple and crystalized as if whatever necrotic or demonic anointment had consumed all organic matter. Bethana and I tried moving the body but it turned to purple ash upon touching it - we picked up his ashes and tossed them in the glass furnace for good measure. It still left the issues of body parts and assorted disaster across the interior of the building. I sent Bethana back to the Rusty Dragon Inn to keep business running and I decided to spend the night at the Glassworks to keep clearing the mess. I knew it was going to take me months to get everything back to operating order, but I felt it was my duty to honor my father’s legacy. As the last Lonjitku in town, all eyes would be on me to carry forward. The next morning, I noticed that the TLU was not back yet from the smuggling tunnel or Quaveous back from writing the report. I panicked and rushed back down to the basement to investigate. I hadn’t been to the smuggling tunnels since I was a rebellious teenager, wanting to eat psychedelic mushrooms without my father noticing. But this time it was different. Someone had started expanding the excavation and opened several man-sized entrances to what I realized was a catacomb, right under the main drive of the city. _

“Ameiko, I can see why you would want to keep this from the authorities - for the safety of the public, the existence of these catacombs from millennia ago is truly dangerous. No wonder Nualia and Tsuto equipped such powerful abilities” Cleric or not, this story had me on my toes, excited like a child before receiving a gift.

“Which is why I’m taking you down there first thing in the morning. I might need you to confirm something for me. I haven’t shared this with anyone outside TLU and Bethana, so find yourself lucky to have this knowledge.” Ameiko had been barely nursing her drink while describing her encounter with Tsuto and TLU, but still had more than half a tankard left. She stood up and gulped the rest, motioning that it was time to turn in for the night. “Bright and early, Cleric” she winked, “We’ll even take a shortcut there”. 


	5. Runelord's Catacombs

_ An unfortunate attack at the Rusty Dragon Inn cultivates a surprisingly informative relationship with the owner, Amieko Lonjitku. Her stories fill in the gaps from my official investigations and reveal a new mystery to the mix: ancient catacombs under the city of Sandpoint. TLU, Winner’s Circle, Goblins, and now ancient dungeons… this just might be the story that cements my career as a historian and paves the way for other adventuring groups across Golarion. _

The next morning we headed out to the middle of town, walking on the paved streetway guiding the folk of Sandpoint from the heart of the city’s markets to a ravaged archeological site of Sandpoint’s Lighthouse. What it could have been millennia ago, early settlers of the region of Varisia had reached an advanced level of civilization before being victims of senseless war, greed, and self-destruction. At the base of these ruins, visitors could encounter small shrines with an assortment of offerings - as it was tradition to think that the tower’s remains protected the town from dangers from beyond the ocean. With the recent goblin attacks, it had become a strong rumor that the town had angered the civilization that had once occupied the land and its protective presence, dissipated forever. 

“Ameiko, do you believe that these offerings help?” 

“Cleric, I don’t think food or coins will help safeguard the town’s lives any more than what wishes and prayers can. But it does help with the losses we’ve experienced since the last Swallowtail Festival” Maybe 50 paces from the shrines, Ameiko stops in her tracks and motions me to catch up to her side. “I’m not trying to be paranoid, I have the feeling that someone or something else found my shortcut to the catacombs… we’ll have to be careful”

Ameiko took a knee and felt her hands through the pavement near her feet, feeling the grout lines for a recess. After a few minutes of dusting the ground, she grabbed a hold of a cracked brick. As she pulled the brick face out, a cloud of dust and smoke emerged from the ground, revealing a manhole carved from stone leading to deep space below. Ameiko motioned for me to head down first, as she needed to place the brick back and cover the manhole again. The stone ladder became dimmer towards complete darkness as Ameiko’s mirage covered the manhole above. 

The way down felt longer than it actually was. I could have reckoned it was like four or five stories underground - but in complete darkness, the cold stone rungs gave the impression that I had been scaling down the world’s tallest mountain at crawling speed. I could sense Ameiko getting restless at our speed, but from the perspective that we might not be the only ones who had discovered the catacombs after TLU came through here.

“Ameiko, I think I can feel solid ground. By the gods, if there’s anything built this deep, it must date back from the days of Thassilon. By the lack of trademark Thassilon decor, I fear that we have stumbled into a runelord’s structure - we shall understand its purpose soon…” 

I paused to catch my breath. As a Pathfinder Chronicler, this discovery rattled my very bones - but also terrified me to no end. The Thassilonian era represented a time of great accomplishments, monumental structures constructed by enslaved giants, and weaved with deep magic to last for the past ten millennia. It also marked a lost time period right before Earthfall, where meteorite showers rained hell over this planet and knowledge from back then became buried under the tides of time and earth. Which in this case dealt with handling runes as the main source of powerful magic. After the death of the great mage emperor Xin, the lands became the playground of seven dark runelords, each specializing in harnessing the power of each of the seven sins of humanity. Some historians theorize that Earthfall was the universe’s natural response to human mages attempting to garner power no matter the cost. And TLU might have stumbled into one of these runelord’s underground compounds. 

“Cleric, this is exactly what I wanted to get confirmation from you. It looks like you recognize why I’m paranoid about revealing the existence of these catacombs to the folk of Sandpoint. Whatever power still lingers here can lay waste to our life above ground if it landed in the wrong hands” 

She motioned to follow her along a dark corridor before we reached a dimly lit room with a murky fountain in the middle filled with maggots and a dark oily substance that swirled around aimlessly. Following this entry foyer, the corridor was painted with corpses at different stages of decomposition, including those of demonic aberrations that must have been standing guard. From the pattern, Ameiko and I both agreed that TLU must have done quick work of the beings guarding the runelord’s well of power. We followed TLU’s path of battle to an inner cathedral lined with statues of Runelord Alaznist, master of Wrath. Based on my previous knowledge, this cathedral most likely was the top level of a much larger catacomb, most likely buried and collapsed underneath.

As we both reached the center of the hall, Ameiko took to narrating how she found TLU after they had been missing for a few days. “I walked in through the tunnels connecting the glasswork factory to this catacomb and followed their battle path as we just did. Found them sleeping on the ground, badly injured near this fountain.” She pointed at the fountain - one that must have donned a ring of polished human skulls balanced on stone spikes, now found itself caved in and incapable of holding any kind of liquid. I noticed that the water puddled around the fountain remains had been purified from something extremely vile - work I can only attest to a cleric in TLU’s ranks. “Not all of them woke up to my arrival, the druid had turned into a bear and it was in deep hibernation. After making sure everyone else was ok, I left the catacombs to bring a cooked stew down here for the dreaming druid. Once back, everyone but the bear was gone!”

Ameiko stood where the bear once slept and motioned for me to come closer. “Look cleric, I have a feeling that I know why my shop was attacked last week. When I found the druid, he was laying near several wanted parchment flyers, as if magic had flown them down here. The druid mentioned that the Northern Hand had kidnapped his best friends and he had a feeling that the rest of the party had set course to Magnimar, based on a message from some lady named Roeza. But I had kept the posters for safekeeping for a while, then decided to hide them down here where nobody would ever notice”. She stuck her hand into the center fountain, and after removing some skulls and debris, she brought out a thick jar nondescript jar filled with parchments. 

I laid one out on the stone ground. Sure enough, these citizens were associated with members of the TLU. Had our adventurer party kicked the hornet's nest by bringing down a profitable criminal operation? Had it been worth risking the lives of your loved ones for the sake of justice and peace? There was no doubt that the group placed the greater good above their own, but what would force the TLU to abandon their post as Sandpoint’s law and order and face inevitable danger? These questions rattled my mind as I stared at the parchment. Leadership in the group might have shifted, allowing the group to venture off into Magnimar without concrete evidence and a plan to rescue their friends. 

“Ameiko, do you know by any chance if the half-orc by Quaveous was found here with the rest of the party?” As far as I was informed, Quaveous helped fight off Tsuto and his goblin minions, but I had yet to find any evidence that he helped clear and purify this catacomb. Ameiko took a second to remember. She moved around the chapel making gestures indicating where she found each member, hoping muscle memory would reveal the answer.

“Cleric, I cannot swear on my answer but by the gods, I believe that the half-orc was not here! If my memory serves me right, the last time I saw him was after being rescued from my half-brother, and vaguely remembering his incessant talk about writing a report to his department back home.” 

Now that was a lead if I ever heard one. Quaveous of Hu-beeth was the half-orc son of the world-renowned diplomat Haddeous of Hu-beeth. For centuries, the Hu-beeth clan had been prominent in the realms of politics, public relations, and marketing of orc culture. As a half-orc, Quaveous had always struggled with showcasing his orc genetics - landing him the difficult task of roaming the world finding places to boast orc culture. It seems that reaching out to their external records department as a Pathfinder might open up clues as to where to find them in Magnimar. 

“So how do you know that the Northern hand knows that you found them down here?” Before Ameiko was able to answer, the dim lights around the chapel blew out and the air became extremely dense and heavy. 

“I think we’re being ambushed - do you have gear with you?... Ameiko?” 

It was very difficult to sense my surroundings or even figure out what was right in front of me - a deep darkness that I only heard in questionable adventure stories. But there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that something was reaching out from the shadows with the intention to kill. Wind started to collect within the dark corners and the last thing I remember before passing out is feeling rushed by the wind, followed by gashing cuts from all angles. The world around me felt heavy and abysmal as if the realization had settled that the sun was never going to rise again. 

We had been ambushed, and most likely at the hands of the Northern Hand. The only creatures known to the Society to weave through the shadows are the dark folk, deranged former humanoids that have evolved to exist where light cannot reach - feeding off the maggots, worms, and fungi that prevail in the rotten corners of every city. Did the Hand possess such influence and power that a population that only cared for themselves would willingly follow orders? I had been caught undercover, without my Pathfinder gear, and with the only civilian witness to recent events that was willing to open up to me. Dehydrated and famined, I rested my mind - hoping to prepare for the end of the last pathfinder chronicler, Eando Kline.

“Eando, for the god’s sake, we don’t have time for any more of your pensive shuteye” An aphonic voice startled my meditative state. I attempted to move my eyelids, and slowly pried them open. Good, I thought, the paralytic poison was finally wearing off. My body had been laid in a bed, directly across where Ameiko was resting, still incapacitated from the attack. The room was small, like a back of house office at a restaurant but walled with several inscribed parchments, as if to protect us from harm from the world. At the far corner of the room, stood a fairly large man, dressed in red robes and wearing a red head covering adorned with some kind of olive branch wreath. Closing a dense tome he was reading, he whispered “I need to talk to you before she wakes up”

With my eyes wide open, I attempted to get my body to move - to my despair, my legs were still paralyzed. My arms’ muscles burned in agonizing pain as if a thousand needles prevented any movement from happening. I dragged my legs out of bed and crawled over where the man was standing. Halfway there my legs started to respond and with much effort, I was finally on my feet.

“Knew you still had your pathfinder training in you, Eando. It’s good to see you!” He was quite excited to see me at my feet and patted my shoulder a couple of times. He then left his hands on my shoulder and grabbed hard. 

In a surge of energy both of our spirits burst upwards, warping beyond the office’s ceiling and into the sky above our current location. We were still in Sandpoint, but above the newly renovated temple. I look over and see an old friend, Earl Vadu who I haven’t seen since my glory days as an adventuring pathfinder for the sake of adventures.

“Earl, what in the world is going on? Why is your spirit hosted in that man - and how did you get to us? Why are we speaking within an astral projection?” 

“Eando, you ask a lot of questions right now, but not the right ones. You were left to die down in those catacombs, and I simply provided a safe harbor, for it is my duty to do so. The past might be complicated to explain, but right now you need to know what TLU has been up to since the Goblin raids, especially in Magnimar”

“The chronicler in me is dying to know how do you know all of this, however it seems that we don’t have the luxury to delight ourselves with details - what have they done?”

Earl’s spirit motioned his hand and we warped over Magnimar, the southern Varisian capital of greed, money, and power. Below us was the Irespan, sometimes called the Giant’s Bridge, the most visible remnant of ancient Thassilon. The Irespan stands 300 feet above the sea and provides cover for the poorest city district - the Underbridge “Shadow City”. 

_ Your favorite adventurers found themselves here a few weeks ago, looking for clues about their kidnapped friends. From what the paladin informed me, they were operating on hints offered by a Roeza they had previously met. Sealth was definitely not in their operation, they spent time visiting a handful of merchants in the Shadow city before they found a lead on their investigation. It also seemed that they left their deputized post in Sandpoint to rescue their friends, leaving the city defenseless white Sherif Hemolock traveled around Varisia looking for fresh recruits.  _

_ The group took turns leading each other within the ghetto labyrinth - and tried to stay in each location for no longer than 10 minutes, to avoid people from following them. What they did not know is that the Northern Hand operatives had already picked up their scent, and were just waiting for nightfall to attack. And before you mention anything, the creatures that attacked Ameiko and you in the catacombs are known around here as stalker operatives, soldiers of the Northern Hand crime family.  _

_ I backtracked their steps in the Underbridge and listed off where TLU stopped for intelligence:  _

  * _The Kicking Tusk Club, where Gweeva was tasked to skirmish against the club’s egotistic elephant fighting champion in exchange for information._


  * Pho Real, where Matilda confronted the owner for bad-mouthing women - and intimidated the owner to give information about the Northern Hand.


  * The Rapid Ship, where Quaveous attempted to use his diplomatic heritage to convince the orc tour boat owner to assist the party - only to scare their contact away with nothing to gain.


  * The Whimsical Quarry, where Sarenrae brought everyone into a recreational drug dispensary famous for making anyone feel the psychedelic effects of the drug upon entry. 


  * The Lucky Eel, where Tarek pressured an old store owner to undress, revealing an arcane focus she was hiding.



_ I came to the group’s rescue, as they found themselves outclassed and outnumbered roaming the alleys of the Underbridge at dusk. Only the Paladin Gweeva and the spirit Sarenrae survived the initial onslaught, the rest fell unconscious. If I hadn’t stepped in to extract, you might not have had a story to chase now. After they recovered, they rushed out to infiltrate the Pediment Building, where it is rumored that corrupt agents of Magnimar’s Justice Department bring Northern Hand prisoners for interrogation and processing. They uncovered was that the head warden Grimmelock Rammcrow had sent TLU’s friends into the “Lower Levels” - a multi-location, multi-level high-security prison that is rumored to only have an entrance and no exits. I led them to the first entrance, but seeing the path ahead they decided to return to Sandpoint - answering a call to rescue Mayor Deverin who had been kidnapped by the Thistletop Goblins. _

_ Knowing you, Eando, you’ll want to follow up with me. However, time is not on our side - I will take us back to Sandpoint where you will have to tend to Ameiko and find your way back to the Rusty Dragon Inn. Quaveous’ diplomatic reports hold a fair representation of the events following their return from Underbridge.  _

Without hesitation, Earl’s spirit motioned and we were both warped back into the parchment room, into our bodies. The red-robed man nodded and receded into the parchment, as a raindrop fades into a puddle in the mud. TLU was proving to be the chronicle of my career.


	6. Thistle Top Pirates

_ The Last Unicorn had abandoned their deputized post in search of their imprisoned friends and after a failed mission they return to find the Mayor of Sandpoint has been kidnapped by the vicious Thistletop Goblin tribe. Why have the goblins decided to openly attack the city? This effort was much more organized than the chaotic Swallow Festival Raid, very uncharacteristic of the simple-minded, blood-thirsty goblins. Who was pulling the strings?  _

  
  


It had been a week since the cold rains approached and a few days since my out-of-body experience with Earl Vadu. Ameiko remembered nothing much other than being carried to the Rusty Dragon Inn, so I decided not to fill her in about my ghastly extracurriculars. However, I did inquire about the time when the Mayor of Sandpoint was kidnapped by the Thistletop goblin tribe. Given the history of Sandpoint’s response to my inquiries I was half expecting to receive a denial of some sort, or simply evading the question altogether. It was Ameiko afterall, it took some sweet bargaining for her to let me into the story behind the catacombs. To my surprise, she turned to me, held my shoulders, and said: “find the land pirate by the name of Tilly Ripnugget, the new leader of the Thistletop Goblins who turned against her grandfather - she’ll be able to fill you in with the truth”. I finally had another name, a lead with substance. I gathered my pathfinder gear from the Rusty Dragon Inn, and bid Ameiko farewell - was not sure if I would ever cross paths with her again, but I was glad I did. She’ll most likely encounter my colleagues when they get my reports about runewells under Sandpoint - the Pathfinder Society Headquarters in Absalom will do everything in their power to prevent evidence of this kind of power from falling into the wrong hands. It had already cost the folk at Sandpoint bloody raids and now the capture of their civic leader. 

I sent ravens to my underground contacts for the location of Tilly Ripnugget before riding out. I was confident that my network of informants was aware of such a name, a pirate leading a group of goblins - who would have imagined? However, there was still a high chance that Tilly already raised anchor and departed Varisia altogether. 

The hinterlands surrounding Sandpoint had already started to change with the coming of winter. This region of the Varisian region receives a mild winter compared to the northern glacial regions, but the terrain is what makes or breaks anybody trying to survive out here. To Sandpoint’s north and west was the vast cold waters of the ocean. Directly south of Sandpoint, a range of arid mountain ranges and a plateau go by the name of Devil’s Platter - as it prevents the port from receiving the same amount of rainfall and lush forest woods that is characteristic of Varisia. My adventure was taking me east, across Devil’s Platter towards the coastal woods surrounding Thistletop.

A few weeks trekking through the hellish plateaus, I could finally feel the humidity in the air coming from the marshes. I had been sleeping by the fire with one eye open, watchful of feral jackals or plateau bandits known for slitting throats and ransacking weary travelers for their wares. I had survived mostly on small edible shrubbery and small reptiles that I was able to catch overnight. Contrary to most travelers, I travel during the middle of the day, under the hot rays of our nearest sun. My cleric powers allow me to keep a cool surface temperature as long as there is access to a clear sky and solar energy. Storms and nighttime are the most dangerous for me because my strength is reduced and it is incredibly difficult to maintain heat during the frigid nights. Like an oasis in the middle of a dune system, the varisian marshlands are the heartland to a very unique flora and fauna. These rich veins have cut through treacherous terrain over thousands of years, bridging the desolation of the plateau with year-round food and shelter.

Thistletop shouldn’t be more than a few leagues away from my current position, and with this terrain change, I planned for at least three day’s travel. I couldn’t wait to catch a decent fish to make up for the missed meals. The marshes led to a humid coastal scene, heavily painted with nettlewoods and mangroves, protecting the marshes from the harsh ocean weather. As my horse and I took to traveling the coastline, across soft dark sand, a foreign element stood out from what I remembered this coastline to look like. There were hundreds of shipwrecks - all in different stages of decay. Most of them seemed to have moored in this naval graveyard about twenty years ago, but some seemed to have been washed up in the last few years. Thassilonians had once documented strong aquatic forces that both prevented invaders from launching conquistas but also Thassilon explorers from venturing too far past the western oceanic divide. Had one of these ancient creatures found safe harbour in the now Varisian shores? What became more interesting was that some wrecks had been harvested for raw material, as if something or someone was trying to rebuild using this material. 

I chuckled out loud. A chronicler tracking down the most notorious band of adventurers stumbles upon a band of goblins acting like pirates! What a headline for the Absalom papers. Feeling the vibe, I took to playing some of my favorite pirate tunes as we rode up the coast. If my contacts were worth the gold, Thistletop should be visible by dusk. 

  
  


_ Dear diary, entry 979 on the eve of the coming of winter.  _

_ I have a confession to make. I'm starting to lose faith that I’ll be able to finish my ship before it’s too late to venture out beyond the western oceanic divide. My mother must have been from the other side, for it seems that nobody on this cursed Varisian land can tell me what my heritage is from. Some say goblin, but Douglas has a feeling that I slowly morph to match living beings in my surroundings to feel protected. And for as long as I remember, I’ve lived with the Thistletop Goblins. This is my home. Was my home. Not sure what it is now. Gogmurt keeps telling me to either stay in Thistletop or consider taking the tribe with me out on sea. Douglas mentioned that goblins aren’t particularly known for handling being at sea for that long - he’s noticed in the past that on slave ships, goblins are the first bodies thrown overboard. Should I put the tribe… my tribe in danger or should I leave them here in Thistletop, open to a never-ending wave of assaults now that word is out that Chief Ripnugget is dead? All of these thoughts won’t matter if I don’t figure out how to build my ship! I’m no planner, but doing this through trial and error has taken me almost a few months since the Last Unicorn and I crossed paths. I have a feeling that today is the last day that I can easily go out to the coast, gather more material, and construct one more prototype. If that doesn’t work, I’ll just pack all my things and have Douglas take me to the furthest port to the south and start a normal life on land.  _

_ My name is Tilly Ripnugget, and I declare that if I fail today, I shall give up on my dream of becoming a pirate; like my mother. At least then, Douglas can rest easy knowing that I’m safely on land, away from his violent kin. _

_ As this might be my last pirate diary entry, might as well give anyone who reads this a synopsis of my life, and the recent events that led to this point:  _

_ Like I said before my name is Tilly, granddaughter of the great Chief Ripnugget of the Thistletop tribe - the chief that brought all the regional tribes under his reign and took responsibility for the raid on the Sandpoint humans during their Swallowtail festival this year. My grandfather was also credited with bringing the ruin of the goblin tribe, by colluding with an outsider and invoking the power of the forbidden powers underneath the tribe safehold. But before all that, Chief was just grandpappy, one who raised me as his successor, after seeing other sons and daughters be nothing more than simpletons. I grew up knowing I looked different than him, taller than him, but with just as much love for him as if he was my own dad. I grew to understand that this world had robbed me of my mother and father, but had placed me in the hands of a wild, courageous goblin hero. “Goblins do as goblins want” was his motto, and he lived to the very end with that premise. Oh and also I’m the one who killed him that fated night.  _

_ In my teenage years, I had explored almost all of the mangrove tunnel network that previous goblins had constructed over the ruins of Thistletop, an ancient Thassilonian port of entry that had been buried after ten thousand years of erosion and silt deposits. One area that I had not yet been able to explore was the sea caves below the mangrove, a few dozen stories underground. It was inhabited by a monster, one that sucked fellow tribemates and stole our fish with some kind of tentacles. Never hurt a goblin, but over the years it became a nuisance to the point we had to protect our catch every day to make sure we had food to serve our families. More than anything the monster was the only thing standing in the way of me exploring the shores of Thistletop and beyond. I dreamed of becoming a pirate, like my mother - based on the previous entries on this dairy. If I wasn’t able to reach the sea caves and beat the monster, I would forever be chained to this routine of the constant threat to our survival. _

_ On the morning of the night I killed my grandfather and took over the Thistletop crown, I had been gearing up for a hunting expedition. I was going down to the sea caves with a couple of my goblin kin to take down the monster and be free from having to guard our food day and night. Right as we laid the rope, a deep bellowing sound erupted from the openings followed by a gush of seawater and slime. Drenched, I looked around and my so-called “brave warriors” were almost halfway back to base with their tails in between their scrawny legs. As I checked my climbing equipment, pissed at the fact that I had to do something alone, again, I heard movement coming from outside the furthest barrier. Invaders, now? - I thought. I searched through my toolbelt for my horsechopper - but it wasn’t there. The gushing force must have swept it away up and back down to the sea caves, leaving me defenseless against invaders and the monster below. I was supremely enraged at that point. Started kicking the mangroves around looking for a decent branch to turn into an improvised weapon when I saw a group of non-goblins emerge from the furthest corner of my eye. Over half my head was pushing me to consider taking cover or go hide, but the remaining consciousness was too stubborn to think of anything but how grossly my plan to conquer the monster and take to the waves. And how reckless I was to think I was going to be able to fight in a sea cave without knowing how to swim. I was angry at how terrified I was of the water. Extremely conflicted and triggered, to say the least.  _

_ The group of outsiders approached closer, with one of them offering a bottle of handmade rum meade. All my anger had seemed to dissipate in an instant. The meade was the best I had ever had - to the point that I became extremely tipsy and suggestible. The group had just traveled six leagues from Sandpoint to rescue their mayor from our Tribe. Drunk or not, I had no idea we had human prisoners in our base. They started showing me evidence that my grandfather had invited a witch by the name of Nualia to reside in the lower levels of our base, to unlock and harness a terrible source of ancient Thassilonians power. Why was grandpappy Chief taking such a violent streak against longshank humans? I agreed to help them, on the premise that I would be the one interrogating the Chief himself. In return, this group of miscreant outsiders would assist in my perilous quest of slaying the sea cave monster. The mysterious ranger Matilda was the only one to call my story a bluff, who could blame her? I was but an odd goblin in a drunken stupor, spewing stories of a giant monster residing hundreds of leagues under our feet. Not long after our initial interaction, the same forceful gush of wind and seawater made its way to the surface, along with a deep gurgling roar. If not a monster, then what would it be? I reminded them with a smug face. They followed me as we all climbed down one of the sinkholes. _

_ What we found was not a simple monster, but a tremendous leviathan resembling a squid with unsettling markings upon its body and seven tentacles. The kraken had carved out a small mountain of a cavern under the mangrove fields to serve as his hermit environment. My anger and courage started to flicker upon facing my enemy, with the sense of fear and drowning creeping up my spine. Not now, I told myself, this is where I make my stand! At the top of my lungs, I yelled, with the cavern echo making it louder: You monster! My name is Tilly Ripnugget and you will be my first victory on my path of becoming a feared pirate! Tentacles slowly started to vibrate, then drag around as if the kraken was making an effort to turn around and address the source of the voice. It took every drop of energy in my body to stand tall, but I could not escape a certain feeling when the kraken’s eyes made contact with mine. Giant, monstrous reptile pupils contracted upon direct contact with mine and I experienced a wave of force pushing against me. Not wind, but it seemed that the kraken’s willpower was enough from preventing me from getting any closer. A voice, deep and infernal, said: Tilly, you shall NEVER become a pirate.  _

_ I froze. What else could I do? My dreams of becoming a pirate were about to be crushed at the tentacles of this monster, who seems to have a personal mission to be in my way! A half-orc among the outsiders stepped up and vouched for my behalf, attempting to intimidate the kraken into letting me do whatever I chose to do with my life. The kraken started to move one of his seven tentacles over the water and before any of us blinked, the half-orc Quaveous had been smacked with a tentacle and sent flying across the cavern. One hit almost killed an amateur sorcerer! This beast was definitely on another level entirely. The ranger that had once doubted my story to be true, approached the kraken with a series of very intuitive questions. Drenched and afraid for my life, I learned three fundamental truths at the same time. One, this kraken was the reason I was alive - Douglas VII had stood up against his Kraken family that was bent on destroying the pirate ship that carried me. Two, that I was not goblin, but I had assimilated to my adoptive family as part of an unknown lineage trait. Three, that I was destined to fail as a pirate, as the kraken family would be hell-bent on decimating the one who survived a kraken attack. _

_ From that point, Douglas became the mentor and friend I never had, one who fundamentally wanted to keep me safe but stood in my way of becoming a pirate-like, my mother. Looking at the group of outsiders, I noted that it was time to hold up my end of the bargain. I asked Douglas to take us out to the backside of the Thistletop Camp, where only ranked goblins entered the main hall. Even though I was allowed free passage through these halls, it was necessary to hide my new allies from the extremely aggressive thistletop goblin clan. We infiltrated into my chief’s room, whereupon investigation, the monk identified a jackal silver decoration as being a marker of a cult of Lamashtu devotion. Why was grandpappy involved with the mother of monsters? Why does he crave the power from demons? To be honest, I felt cheated. Since very young grandpappy Ripnugget had shown me that the only power worthy of leadership was one that came from within, so why was he borrowing power from others? I motioned for my allies to hide from my grandfather. I confronted him about it, and things got agitated a bit. He was rambling on and on about becoming part of something bigger, and that Nualia had promised power from the runewell beyond our comprehension.  _

_ I told him I wanted none of it, that I wanted only to be a pirate and make the thistletop goblins the first sea-faring plunderers along the Varisian coast. I told him that before I left, I wanted to do one last thing to remember our good times - and motioned him for a hug. I hadn’t hugged him since I was a toddler, so this was incredibly emotional for me. As he came in closer, I shoved my blade deep into his heart and kissed his forehead. I couldn’t bear him being manipulated by some demonizing wench, and knowing my adoptive kin it would not stop until death came knocking. So I made death a favor and accelerated his timeline. I looked over to my new allies and motioned them to start heading down to the basement levels of Thistletop - to effectively evict Nualia and her invading leeches from my land. As I introduced myself to the clan as the new captain, I could feel the constant rumbling from below - a sign of The Last Unicorn raising hell with Nualia.  _

_ The weeks following Nualia’s extermination were the hardest and mostly the reason why I find myself scavenging shipwrecks for building material with little to no help from my tribe. Or better yet why my tribe is nearing extinction from staying in this cursed place. Turns out Nualia left us Thistleop Pirates a darling gift, an awakened demon who had been previously sealed under our base of operations. My goblin kin, vulnerable to suggestive language and overpowering mental energies, fell mad to Maleshkenfor’s whisperings. For every clan member I lost, I felt like the demon was actually stealing their power-hungry souls for himself. Gogmurt, my trusty goblin advisor, managed to save a handful of families, but most of our war-ready soldiers fell to the madness. And it didn’t help that while we dealt with Maleshkenfor, other goblin tribes saw our vulnerability to attack our base.  _

_ This is my confession. For whoever reads this, just know that some of my kin might still need a proper burial if my mission fails today, for I can only go into town alone. Leaving my clan members here will only ensure their deaths at the hand of other goblins or Maleshkenfor himself. Tilly of the Thistletop Pirates, to sea or to death! _

  
  


As the shore turned inland, marking a definite change in vegetative tapestry where dense mangrove and nettlewood patches started to form the protective barrier between land and sea. In my years as a pathfinder and chronicler, I’d hate to admit that I’ve seen my fair share of mass graves. Political rulers, dictators and autocrats have long fortified halls, expanded fields and filled trenches with the bodies of their opposition; sometimes quite literally. I’ve grown to stomach those, holding my breath at the sight of the blatant cruelty and oppression. What I saw in the fields was the type of burial site that freezes my bones over and time again - a product of a cursed natural disaster and the abrupt end of a culture once brimming with life and activity. 

Nested among the top layer of mangroves, I could see several linen-wrapped bodies, encased with nettlewood roots. It had seemed that the globins residing in Thistletop believed that nature would re-absorb their bodies into a peaceful and eternal embrace.A riveting number of burials, probably in the thousands, most likely if counted it would represent the entire population of the Thistletop tribe. 

All but one, as the sight of a lone, burnt and tattered jolly roger stood out amongst a clearing in the mangroves. The skull of a goblin with two crossed horse choppers instead of bones had been the semblance chosen for a pirate crew of fearless and vicious goblins, before something sniffed their futures out of existence. At the foot of the flag mast lay an unlocked treasure chest, with the insignia “T.R.” imprinted on the case’s leather. Inside, a bound diary with an entry dated but a few weeks before my arrival to the shores of Thistletop.

And in the distance, my magical sensors alert me of an ancient, most likely Thassilonian degree of magic emanating from the goblin tribe’s lair. If it was anything similar to the catacombs I visited with Ameiko, this journey so far might just prove to be the most challenging for a one-man operation. Before wishing I had my old pathfinder crew, I picked up the abandoned diary and returned to the ship-wrecked shores for the night. I would need a good night’s sleep to face whatever demon is loose in the morning. 


	7. The Northern Hand

_ Tilly Ripnugget, the adoptive granddaughter of the mighty goblin Chief Ripnugget had been responsible for assisting TLU in their mission to recover Mayor Deverin from the hands of Nualia and her gang of murderous goons. According to Tilly’s diary I recovered, I had solid proof I was but a few week’s behind the adventuring wave, every day getting closer and catching up on lost time. Upon my unwilling return to Sandpoint, I come upon discovering a series of events that occurred during my Thistletop excursion… courtesy by no other than Sandpoint’s favorite sheriff and deputy, Hemlock and Garzuk _ .

I opened my eyes to the erratic shaking of the back of a wagon cart traversing through uncomfortably rocky terrain. My head was pounding and I had an unmistakable feeling of burning in my chest, as if I had been writhing in flames for weeks but with a lack of charred skin on my body. Whatever was blighting me was strong, ancient and by the gods most definitely Thassilonian. Only the runelords would leave a demon to stand the test of time capable of bringing down living hell to any that came in its path. I blinked a couple of times to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating, but by the looks of it I was a few hours away from Sandpoint. Again. I thought I had made my peace with this place and moved on to more interesting pastures. Ameiko might be happy to see me, I suppose. 

“Oh you’re finally awake Mr. Kline” the half-orc momentarily brought his face out of the ledger he was reading and after a split second of confirming that I was alive and conscious he returned to his task at hand. 

Apparently I was tied up in a cart, sitting across from Garzuk and next to an older goblin warchanter, who was in turn being watched over by additional guards. Gogmurt was gagged and tied with additional bindings as if to prevent him from even breathing the wrong way. While one of the guards kept a keen eye on him, the other one looked at me puzzled. 

“You were trying to plan another raid on Sandpoint right?” The observing guard squeaked. ”Avenging the death of your old Chief, Ripnugget and trying to raise chaos and destruction across our countryside? As if we didn’t have enough on our hands already!”

Garzuk’s ears twitched as if in attention, but not enough to warrant a response. 

“Sandpoint was fine until your kind came along. Goblin tribes and organized crime were nice and lazy. If it hadn’t been for you Pathfinders, our town wouldn’t have been in this kind of debt to the wrong people” the second guard said, almost under his breath.

“No kidding. You think bringing this one in would make the Northern Hand happy?” The first guard pointed at Gogmurt. “He doesn’t look like ‘next in line’ material to me, he complained too much” The second guard shrugged aimlessly. 

“Shut up back there!” A familiar voice came from outside the covered cart. Sheriff Hemlock was driving us back into town. Garzuk had a pile of my belongings, my  _ real pathfinder  _ gear and remnants of what appeared to be goblin weapons and equipment. I wanted to ask questions but the position I was in was quite indelicate to say the least. Brothers and sisters in binds now, with a goblin warpriest.

The wagon came abruptly to a stop, and the sound of hoofs and boots led me to believe we had reached a checkpoint of some sort. 

“Capo Isadros, sir” Sheriff Hemlock announced himself to the patrol. 

“The headsman is waiting at the end of the line, don’t keep me waiting” said a deep, almost vicious voice. 

“Of course sir” Hemlock cleared his throat before having the horses move forward again. 

My horse. Last thing I remember was setting up camp at the shipwreck beach and digging into Tilly’s journal. I’m sure I woke up the next day and faced the demon Maleshkenfor the next morning. Damn you, demon. Whatever happened to me must have been within his realm of capabilities. Lack of proof of his existence will make it hard to convince local jurisdictions that I’m not Absalom’s nutjob creating havoc. And headsman? What are we getting beheaded without fair trial? I thought Sandpoint was corrupt but this is beyond my imagination right now! In reality, it was a matter of time until Hemlock and his men figured out who I really was. According to my handlers, the name Amber Vyre was somewhat known to Sandpoint as part of the merchant charter, Vyre Holdings operated by the Vyre Family. Must have been that the actual Ambert was actually dead and Hemlock connected two and two together. A pathfinder sniffing up tracks of other pathfinders suddenly departs and a dead man immediately shows up to the Rusty Dragon Inn. In my honest opinion, that was and still is the essential problem of small towns. You can never, ever do any type of reconnaissance work without getting caught by the peddling gossip of the crowds.

I had one last ace up my sleeve - pants to be exact - one that no man was technically able to foil in the context of a public execution. Was it going to be an execution? Headsman would be an agonizingly misleading name for a scalp polisher. 

The wagon stopped slowly this time, as if approaching a larger covering of sorts, probably a stable or a shed. My head still rattled and my chest continued to ache, but I could distinctly remember being able to recognize the smell of the varisian coast. We had to be a few miles south of Sandpoint - gods I must have been out cold for a while - a few leagues from town if I had to guess at knifepoint. The driver stepped down to saddle the horses, seemingly motioning Garzuk to bring the prisoners down into wherever the “end of the line” was. Gogmurt couldn't have been treated any better than garbage itself, shoved and kicked around like a sack of fertilizer. Knowing exactly what he was, I still felt an ounce of empathy for him, given that a non-goblin such as Tilly was able to account him as family. No matter how much Absalom pushes for equality of all species, the people of Golarion will always continue to have issues with prejudice and bias.

Capo Isadros, sat on a makeshift throne made from rubble in a small clearing adjacent to the Foxglove Mansion, the “end of the line”. Flanking each side of the mansion towards the fields, several Northern Hand encampments had been raised to collect a sizable offensive force, thousands of war ready men, women and creatures. Leader to either a rebellion or a crusade, the organization was making a declaration with blood and Sandpoint looked like the first stepping stone. We were being paraded down the main encampment driveway as spoils of war, and every soul became fired up upon fixating on us. As if the goblin and I were of any consequence in this theatre. 

Even as I dragged my feet I couldn’t help from keeping a low profile, head down moving forward to a probable excruciating death. I was not expecting, however, to notice that the ground had been scorched, burned to a crisp. Reminded me of the purifying fires after a cursed harvest season in a lot of villages in this region of the world. Superstitious people for sure, but the Foxglove property must have been possessed or occupied by a sizable threat to earn such a flame.

I am motioned to stop walking forward. We finally make it to the “end of the line”. Dozens of boots clank their heels at our arrival, and the apparent appearance of Capo Isadros. The air is no longer filled with the smells of camp, scoured earth and imminent war - with the Northern Hand’s leader in the room all I could sense was chaos. Pure chaos. Glancing over Gogmurt I realize that he’s shifting in and out of consciousness, literally fading away. Maybe he had already given up a ways back, with the departure of her new chieftess Tilly he had no real place to go. Or maybe I was partly to blame for his condition? The last few days were still a foggy blur. It gave me hope that my mind felt that something was still there, I was just not able to grasp the memory yet. Gogmurt was dragged forth to be presented to Capo Isadros. By his throne I could see a golden wide greatsword with an intricate decorated black iron hilt. Emanating from the golden blade I could swear I noticed distortions but I wasn’t sure whether it was just part of my current afflictions. 

Isadros stood up and started walking towards the gagged goblin, and for the first time I realized he wasn’t the leader but a formidable officer of a much larger organization. Isadros donned blue spiky hair held back by a tied back green headband. His tattered royal blue tunic was covered with leather studded chest armor, completed with adamantine pauldron, vambraces, and greaves over his white trousers. As we walked forth, the red cloak attached to his shoulders waved chaotically behind him, Isadros himself was calling forth a storm from all cardinal directions. His left first suddenly burst into purple flames, creating pressure waves in its vicinity. 

“"I had the strangest dream... It was of another world, and there were entire crowds calling my name. Countless people, all cheering for me. Can you believe it?” Isadros said, still holding concentration on his flaming fist. “I don't pretend to understand magic, much less the runewell power you boast, but... Well, it wouldn't surprise me if that cheering is why I was summoned to this world. But if that is the case... I have to make sure I don't let them down.” Isadros bent his knees and pulled back and gut punched Gogmurt. The flame instantly transferred to the body and while the goblin just  _ appeared  _ to take a hit, everyone present felt a seismic aftershock mere seconds later. I started to bite my lips. I can’t use my trump card yet, I thought to myself - only in absolute emergency should I use my SOS. 

Isadros perked back up, motioning some of his men to pick Gogmurt and hold him up. From my vantage point, I could only see the goblin’s breathing, and it became slower and weaker by each breath.

“I'm no knight, and certainly no nobleman. My father was my only example of how a man should be. So I need to carry out his vision and make sure Northern Hand is something he would be proud of. To fight for money and power, not for the people... That is my desire.” Isadros kept mulling on as his right greave burst into the same purple flames, round housing a kick to the goblin’s face. After the second aftershock, Isadros crouched down to a dying goblin.

“And you dared to stand in my way,” he whispered.

Isadros started walking back to his makeshift throne. Before he sat down, Gogmurt somehow used whatever strength he had left to take his gag off and shout, with blood dripping from his eyes, mouth and ears.

“She… promised there would be retribution. You are no match against the powers of Nualias’ master. The Last Unicorn is also out to destroy the runewells so it is a matter of time before you are cornered once again” Gogmurt coughed out high colored blood, signs of massive internal bleeding. The goblin collapsed on the floor, into a fetal position with his face looking in my direction. At the moment I wasn’t able to realize the goblin was looking at me, but I could hear, as clear as day, Gogmurts voice in my head. 

_ “Find her Eando, find her and bring her home alive or in a casket if it's the last thing you do for me. Tilly belongs with her clan, not in some longshank city left to die in a ditch somewhere.” _

“I'LL be the one to destroy it ALL!!!” Isadros snapped, as he reached for his sword and lounged forwards, piercing the ground in front of him. Purple lighting gathered in the golden blade entered the ground, and transferred directly to Gogmurt’s unconscious body. The energy contorted his body, breaking every bone and dislocating every joint repeatedly. As the energy dissipated, Gogmurt’s body still twitched, in short spasms of disjointing movement. Remnants of burnt and scarred tissue coiled around Gogmurt’s corpse, as if the chaotic energy had entangled the warpriest and strangled him out of any lifeforce he had left.

Amongst the foot soldiers dragging Gogmurt’s body away and Garzuk shoving me forward, I made the connection between the Gogmurt’s execution and the condition of the land - this monster somehow feeds the power of his chaotic energy from the wild energies in the environment. TLU must have left the Foxglove Mansion and surrounding property in such a level of disarray for Isadros to have consumed it all. No wonder the Northern Hand is following my fellow pathfinders, the disruption they create is fuel to the army of thugs and anarchists. 

“Capo Isadros, my liege. I present to you a pathfinder chronicler, whom we encountered unconscious while scavenging the Thistletop Goblin hideout where we found their warchanter, Gogmurt the Wise as the lone survivor. It seems that this pathfinder is tracking the whereabouts of TLU and likely knows of their mission and ours.” Sheriff Hemlock reported in an unnatural, stoic manner - very unlike the personable law-man of Sandpoint.

“It seems Absalom is growing too fond of my master’s operations in Varisia… we shouldn’t kill him but I can make an exception and blame it on the goblin” Isadros grinned as he wiped his blade from goblin blood and guts. “Any last words before your untimely death?”

“Your lack of experience is showing Isadros… all you’ve showcased so far is that you need sacrificial lambs to feed your chaotic manipulation powers” I was trying to throw him off, buy some time. While it was true, I still had no idea how old this guy was, or how much actual experience he had. 

“What about now?” Isadros flash stepped, taking his recently cleaned blade and thrusting it through my abdomen. He was aiming for my guts and by the sound of it, he might have also gotten the guard holding me down. By the gods, what a waste of manpower! Jokes aside, I was mortally wounded, gave myself a couple of hours until I bled to death unless help arrived. Even though I was tempted to sound my distress alarm, I needed to see how these events panned out, even if it cost me the ultimate price. Some necromancer in Absalom will probably find a way to communicate with my dead body and get the facts straight. If anybody asked, that’s the true risk of being a pathfinder chronicler. You never know what events you are going to unfold. 

“You are making a grave mistake, Isadros” I said, coughing up blood. The guards were motioned to leave me alone, to bleed to death while everyone went about their business. Garzuk crouched to my prone level and patted me on the shoulder. Professionalism until the end, I suppose. After all the only difference between Garzuk and I other than belonging to a reputable organization of pathfinders, was that he was documenting the history from the Northern Hand perspective. Winning side, losing side - I know from experience we don’t really know until the chapter is closed. With The Last Unicorn, I don’t feel like I know the full story… yet. 

Isadros sat back on his throne after wiping his blade once again. It was as if he was in stand by for some operation. Behind me, where Gogmurt’s body was being taken I heard a loud blast, and a following shockwave. I can no longer hold a prone position, my legs gave out; I found a nearby burnt stump to lean up against and observe as much as I can before I run out of blood. Following the blast, there were several slashing sounds, as if a wild beast had been unleashed upon the crowd and was hastily approaching my position. Isadros became amused, but did not react, not until the bashing and slashing arrived at the entrance of the clearing.

A moshpit of creatures, man and war monster came barreling down, as if whatever was moving towards Isadros… no, towards me - was on a mission that nothing was apparently capable of stopping it. Another blast and shockwave sent knocked out guards and creatures sliding across the clearing. The source of this power was no other than Gogmurt. But not the feeble, tortured warpriest Gogmurt. This time it was a bloodstained-eye, muscular goblin, with a hide of fur for skin and a set of double claws for hands and feet. 

_ “Oh Eando… miss me much?”  _ the hellish voice pierced through my eardrums and sent chills down my spine. I coughed blood - not the best time to be bleeding out, I thought. Another hit and I was definitely no longer a candidate for life but even for necromancy solutions. A second shockwave came this time from Isadros’ blade striking the canine goblin. Isadros did not manage to land a hit, as the respawned goblin parried the blade with his sharp claws. Writhing in pain, I hear the voice again, this time congratulating me for having found such strong contenders. Isadros, a friend? No. A contender? Wouldn’t know because I’ve been offered a chance to beat this chaotic fiend in a fair fight. In the gears of my subconscious, hearing that voice once more made some memories click. That’s not Gogmurt anymore - that’s Maleshkenfor, the Thassilonian demon that had been cursing the Thistletop Tribe since their arrival in the Sandpoint Hinterlands and brought an entire clan of goblin warriors to their extinction. I started to feel dizzy after the third and fourth shockwave, but I did my best to keep up with the fierce duel between demons. 

The last thing I remember before passing out and sounding the distress call, was hearing a loud horn call, like a long warning notice for war. Several purple portals, brimming with chaotic energy appeared across the camp. Northern Hand troops branded with a signature bloody handprint on their armor charged through, weapons a-blazing. Troops that didn’t have the handprint became human mincemeat and debris, as passing through the portal shredded their very existence. Isadros was maybe the last one to part, leaving Maleshkenfor with Sheriff Hemlock, Garzuk and other loyalist troops that didn’t get a chance to officially join the ranks. Infuriated that his opponent had fled the battle, Maleshkenfor took to slashing anybody in his vicinity and devouring their souls. Garzuk initially tried to get away, but he might have realized that it was the “end of the line” for him as well. He walked over to where I laid, patted me on the shoulder for the last time and walked towards the raging demon. By this point, I’m unable to keep my head up or my eyes open, so I brace for the worst and close my eyes to rest a little.

_ “Oh Eando… out of all you have proven to be of much use to me. Do me a favor and live through your condition, so that we might spar once more!” _


End file.
